Like Wind
by ashfruit
Summary: Sometimes, she can’t help but ask what he sees in her. — minato x yuko , fluff .


LIKETHEWIND ;

Minatoxyuko----

She isn't even that pretty or popular. Sometimes, she can't help but ask what he sees in her. ----- MINATO/YUKO,FLUFF.

-

She wonders if it's the way she runs.

It's not as if she doesn't know that he watches her do that so often during track practice after school on some days. She tells him more than usual to stop doing that – it makes her feel self-conscious, and therefore impedes the way she runs. Otherwise, she'd have chip off those last two seconds if he didn't have to sit at the sidelines and watch her with that kind of intensity in his eyes that make her swallow, blush and _run _at the same time. But he doesn't listen to her, and continues to do that. On Wednesdays, on Fridays, and sometimes he even comes out of his dormitory on Saturdays when she has extra practice to watch her train.

He sits there, legs crossed like he's doing yoga – she knows he always do that to tease her, anyway. You're so embarrassing, sometimes she'll tell him, and he'll laugh it off and kiss her forehead. Sometimes he'll be licking a pineapple-flavored lollipop (his favorite...he has weird taste, he knows), other times, he'll munch on strawberry shortcakes, or taste some sushi.

All she knows is that he's always there, rain or shine --- water bottle, towel, packeted food for her just in case she ever gets hungry – ready for his girlfriend, anytime.

She can't stop poking fun of him. Like you're my special delivery boy or something, she giggles, and turns beet red when he touches his nose to her, and kisses her lightly on the forehead. She tells him she really stinks after track practice, and really they shouldn't be doing this just in case the track team walks out of the locker room and sees them acting like this, but he rolls his eyes and his looks tell her he should care and why.

She loves him. She tells him that all the time. When he presses the towel to her temple, or brushes beads of perspiration off her jacket, or simply caresses her cheeks and then starts massaging the nape of her neck where it aches like crazy, she rests contented in his arms, leaning into his lap, and tells him repeatedly as she laces their fingers together and kisses his jaw – that she loves him, loves him, loves him, loves him over and over again.

They've been dating steadily for nearly a year--- he's watched her at track practice for five months unfailingly. They've kissed, embraced and touched each other intimately at the bleachers, in school, anywhere they could steal some moments alone together –

She knows she loves him. He knows that, too. She makes sure of it.

Though it's not as if she can go pretending that he still hasn't told her---- yet.

_I love you----_all the time.

She tells him.

His only response is to nod, smile and kiss her nose and eyes and her hair, and pull her into his arms. Sometimes, he'll smile that smile that turn her heart over --- sometimes, when she starts tip-toeing and kissing him back, they'll get so carried away they'll start making out right there in the locker room where they started, and then only stop when the cleaning lady comes and chases them away muttering about school rules, intimacy and whatnots for a couple. She'll blush like ten million shades pink when they walk out, only to have him stop her and kiss her right there in the school corridor --- and finish what they've yet to.

He doesn't say _I love you, too. _

But then again, she knows she's lucky enough to have a caring, _awesome, _charismatic, _charming, _sweet, _romantic _boyfriend who also happens to be a man of few words, and she wouldn't have it otherwise. Introverted, quiet – she loves him just the way he is – and she knows him too long, loves him too deep, to know that he loves her_ too, _and isn't too shy to say it...

...just only, he knows, and she knows, he'll prefer to show her the way he's best at expressing himself;

(And like they say, the rest is history.)

She still doesn't know why of all the beautiful, graceful women he've met in his life, he'd have fallen for her. She knows she lacks feminity, the sweet girly charm that other females her age do – she isn't graceful. She's clumsy like an oaf. She's not pretty either. Gray hair and ruby eyes aren't as enticing as those pretty blond locks and cerulean blue eyes --- oh, how she wishes she have them. And she runs too much, sweats too much, to ever emanate that kind of elegant, sophisticated aura,

She asks why sometimes, and he doesn't answer.

He's always been better in telling her through his kisses, and the way he looks at her, anyway.

So she simply settles for the way he likes to see her run.

And believes that so strongly, she wishes her legs won't ever break--- that she won't ever stop running.

But right now, in his arms, watching the sun set and stars aglow in the sky, she can't help but turn around (not before lightly kissing his nose) and ask him, why do you love me when you can have so many other better women?

She's not strong (she cries like a baby) ---

Neither is she beautiful (she doesn't even have those tits that those campus girls have, and wishes she isn't so jealous)----

She's not popular (she's not Mitsuru-sempai, she's not on Council like him, she doesn't have hordes of fanboys like Yukari does)-----

So, why?

She watches him sigh, bend to kiss her eyebrow, comb his fingers through her hair, and look into the distance.

She notices his gaze affixed on the track, and nods for herself --- decides that it's true then. He likes the way she runs best. Maybe it's how some of her friends commend that she runs like the wind. Maybe he just likes that---all boyfriends like their girls to be some star athletes or something, right? Or maybe it's only when she's out there that she actually believes she looks graceful, like a dancer, or a ballerina from some nutcracker musical----

"Well, just for you, I won't stop running. Ever." She nuzzles her nose into his shoulder.

He holds her, so preciously, like a porcelain doll.

Their eyes meet, and he touches his lips down to hers.

"I love the way you run." He tells her.

She nods, her eyes shining. "I promised you –I won't stop running."

They kiss – for a minute, or two, his hands coming all the way around her small waist, her fingers going up to the back of his neck, loving the way they tingle when he pulls her so close, they're almost molding into one. When they pull apart, he brushes her gray hair away which tickles his nose and cradles her in his arms.

She wonders hesitantly why her boyfriend is uncharacteristically nervous – it shows in his eyes, flickering like an unfamiliar light.

He turns away to cough. She calms him by touching his jaw.

She tries to ignore a little voice inside her head that tells her she's not only comforting him, but also herself --- a sinking pain sings in her heart...speaking inwardly of some sort of fear that she's only worth so much to him. That she's validated by only her fitness, her achievements – that what he likes best about her is just that, just her being out there on the track running like the wind. Afraid of the awareness, the realization that hits her full-force --- that she loves him so, and he loves her only because she runs so much like the wind...

"You okay?" She whispers.

He tilts his head, to kiss her hair.

"I love you, you know?" He tells her.

They share a comfortable silence for a minute --- she burying her head into his neck, and him holding her like she means the world to him, plus the sky, and the universe, and the entire solar system and many many suns and stars and the moon and everything. She means _everything, _and he breathes out, finally conscious and feeling drained and awfully shy suddenly that he's finally shared his feelings to his girlfriend.

She doesn't question why he doesn't say so earlier.

But then guesses that's just him – man of few words, spontaneous, charismatic, mysterious. And she wouldn't trade him for the world world. Never.

"Even if I break my legs---"

"I love you more than that, silly." He breaks her sentence, kissing her nose.

"And if I don't run as fast anymore one day, you'll still love me?"

"Is Junpei an idiot?" Even kissing her hair, she can picture the way his eyes are rolling, and it makes her smile so bright.

She hugs him tight, and he takes the chance to place her hand in his.

"I love the way you run, you remind me of the wind."

"And you love the wind." She teases him.

"Oh, not so much as you." He ruffles her hair, and purposefully pulls her hair tie so her gray hair now falls behind her back messily.

"You ask me this question so often, you know?" He sighs, and rocks her gently.

"I'm not pretty---"

"I love you."

"I'm not popular---"

"I love you."

"I cry like a baby sometimes---"

"I still love you."

"And if one day I break my legs---"

"Then I'll give you wings so you can fly."

She giggles and pokes him in the collar. "That's silly. If I have wings, I'll fly into the sky."

"Then I'll have to grow my own wings to come chasing after you, don't I?" He offers her a small smile, so uncharacteristic of him, that she knows it's one of those he saves for her, just for her.

This time, it is her who kisses him – on the mouth.

"You don't have to come chasing---" she opens her mouth to him as he takes their kiss deeper, furthur, "---I'll wait for you, always."

He doesn't say anything anymore, but simply holds her so close, and kisses her so captivatingly, she thinks she see stars.

She knows he's always been a man of few words, and she love him so, _so _much for it.

And the best part is, she knows now that he _loves _her, too – broken legs or not.

**OWARIDA. ------- **

* * *

a/N:

...O_O. I honestly hope you didn't choke on that much fluff.. GAHHHH THE SAPPINESS!!! – runs off to clear her system of just that, mumbles something like "too much, too much" ---

Honestly, I am surprise I actually wrote a fic about them leaving out their names entirely. Ho-hum. I surprise myself sometimes.

Reviews are appreciated, always----XD


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